and Aunt Angela had all moved to San Francisco in the nineteen fifties. But when she asked more about the family ties, Uncle Enzo changed the subject. After an hour, they rose to go. Lita hugged Celeste.
“Will you join us for Sunday dinner?” Lita said. She glanced at her uncle, whose face lost about ten years off it in his broad smile.
“I can’t speak for my family, but I would like to, thank you,” Celeste said before she asked if she could bring anything. Lita looked to Uncle Enzo.
“Only yourself,” he said.
On the drive home, Lita tried to question Uncle Enzo about the D’Angelos and Celeste, but, like Lorenzo, he wasn’t open with much information. Still, she knew she was right about Uncle Enzo’s feelings for Celeste, especially when Celeste called that evening to ask if her family could come with her on Sunday. Uncle Enzo’s frown proved Lita’s suspicion that he would prefer Celeste to join them without the watchful eyes of her family on him. She knew how he felt, as she wished she could get Lorenzo alone again. Maybe he would come to dinner on Sunday to say goodbye. Until then, she would just hope. She didn’t have it in her to try and contact him again.
She spent the next few days with Uncle Enzo, talking about the family, learning their likes and dislikes and routines, discovering her new home and neighborhood. She appreciated the view of the bay from Uncle Enzo’s house on the hill, where she could also look down on her new church and the buildings where the rest of the family, and Lorenzo, lived. Still, it all seemed a blur to her, as if her brain was too overloaded to take in anything else.
She tried every night to think of some part of the neighborhood, like D’Angelo’s market with its metal shelves of Italian imports, bakery and deli cases, tall glass door refrigerators with prepared meals, and mural of Celeste and her husband’s hometown, painted by her son, Paul, who had passed away over ten years before.
Yet every landmark she recalled only ended in a flash of Lorenzo. His apartment was down the street from D’Angelo’s Market, he had been baptized at the church, he used to play in the park as a boy, he had Uncle Enzo’s stature and Janice’s grimace. He pervaded every place and every person reminded her of him. She had to forget. Her new family would be enough for her, for now.
On Sunday, she went to church with Uncle Enzo then returned home to start preparing for her first family dinner. She cleaned. She had convinced Uncle Enzo they didn’t need a maid anymore. The living room and dining room shone from her polishing, a vague hint of lemon lingered, and the bathroom and kitchen sparkled, though she was about to dirty the latter again.
She flapped a large white tablecloth over the gleaming surface of the cherry wood dining room table, set it with freshly ironed linen napkins and the everyday dishes, since it wasn’t really a special occasion, like a birthday or holiday. The fruits depicted on the white plates were cheery and Lita smiled as she placed wine and water glasses and silverware around the table. Almost everything in the house was what she herself would choose and she blinked, wishing she could have met her aunt, the woman Uncle Enzo said she was so like. And her father…considering Jane’s hateful reaction to her move, she suspected she might have known the truth all along, known her family was Lorenzo’s family too. Of course, Jane denied this and, so far, Lee changed the subject every time she brought it up. One part of her drifted while another felt anchored in a new spot.
She scanned the table one last time before running to greet Sophia and Carlo. The three of them worked together in the kitchen while Uncle Enzo made some calls in his study. The bright blue curtains were pushed open to let in the bright August light, the cool breezes, and the noises of cars and people arriving. Carlo took the tray of antipasti, with its rows of marinated red and green
“Will you join us for Sunday dinner?” Lita said. She glanced at her uncle, whose face lost about ten years off it in his broad smile.
“I can’t speak for my family, but I would like to, thank you,” Celeste said before she asked if she could bring anything. Lita looked to Uncle Enzo.
“Only yourself,” he said.
On the drive home, Lita tried to question Uncle Enzo about the D’Angelos and Celeste, but, like Lorenzo, he wasn’t open with much information. Still, she knew she was right about Uncle Enzo’s feelings for Celeste, especially when Celeste called that evening to ask if her family could come with her on Sunday. Uncle Enzo’s frown proved Lita’s suspicion that he would prefer Celeste to join them without the watchful eyes of her family on him. She knew how he felt, as she wished she could get Lorenzo alone again. Maybe he would come to dinner on Sunday to say goodbye. Until then, she would just hope. She didn’t have it in her to try and contact him again.
She spent the next few days with Uncle Enzo, talking about the family, learning their likes and dislikes and routines, discovering her new home and neighborhood. She appreciated the view of the bay from Uncle Enzo’s house on the hill, where she could also look down on her new church and the buildings where the rest of the family, and Lorenzo, lived. Still, it all seemed a blur to her, as if her brain was too overloaded to take in anything else.
She tried every night to think of some part of the neighborhood, like D’Angelo’s market with its metal shelves of Italian imports, bakery and deli cases, tall glass door refrigerators with prepared meals, and mural of Celeste and her husband’s hometown, painted by her son, Paul, who had passed away over ten years before.
Yet every landmark she recalled only ended in a flash of Lorenzo. His apartment was down the street from D’Angelo’s Market, he had been baptized at the church, he used to play in the park as a boy, he had Uncle Enzo’s stature and Janice’s grimace. He pervaded every place and every person reminded her of him. She had to forget. Her new family would be enough for her, for now.
On Sunday, she went to church with Uncle Enzo then returned home to start preparing for her first family dinner. She cleaned. She had convinced Uncle Enzo they didn’t need a maid anymore. The living room and dining room shone from her polishing, a vague hint of lemon lingered, and the bathroom and kitchen sparkled, though she was about to dirty the latter again.
She flapped a large white tablecloth over the gleaming surface of the cherry wood dining room table, set it with freshly ironed linen napkins and the everyday dishes, since it wasn’t really a special occasion, like a birthday or holiday. The fruits depicted on the white plates were cheery and Lita smiled as she placed wine and water glasses and silverware around the table. Almost everything in the house was what she herself would choose and she blinked, wishing she could have met her aunt, the woman Uncle Enzo said she was so like. And her father…considering Jane’s hateful reaction to her move, she suspected she might have known the truth all along, known her family was Lorenzo’s family too. Of course, Jane denied this and, so far, Lee changed the subject every time she brought it up. One part of her drifted while another felt anchored in a new spot.
She scanned the table one last time before running to greet Sophia and Carlo. The three of them worked together in the kitchen while Uncle Enzo made some calls in his study. The bright blue curtains were pushed open to let in the bright August light, the cool breezes, and the noises of cars and people arriving. Carlo took the tray of antipasti, with its rows of marinated red and green
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